Authors: Jamaica Kincaid
Talk Stories (4 page)
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Every Friday, from noon to three o'clock, the young, upward-mobile, fun-loving, always-on-the-go set lunch and dance at La Martinique, a black discothèque at 57 West Fifty-seventh Street. Now, there are a few cultural traits that black people may want to deny (why, I'll never quite know), but there are some that they just can't escape. For instance, they can't deny that they know how to make dancing music better than anyone else, that they give better parties than anyone else, that they are better at dancing spontaneously than anyone else. The spirit of these three things makes a successful discothèque, and black discothèques are better than anyone else's. I visited La Martinique a couple of Fridays ago, and here are some of the things I noticed about the place.
La Martinique is a very welcoming discothèque. It has real-wood chairs at small fake-marble-topped tables, soft lighting, a large dance floor that always seems freshly sanded, a bar where you will get good Screwdrivers (and it would be
wise not to have anything but), and a cigarette machine that charges seventy-five cents for a pack of cigarettes and takes only quarters.
wise not to have anything but), and a cigarette machine that charges seventy-five cents for a pack of cigarettes and takes only quarters.
In the evenings, La Martinique becomes a regular discothèque, and the people who are responsible for the evening entertainment are not the same people who put on the lunchtime dancing affair. The people responsible for the lunchtime dancing are Pjay Jackson, a secretary with an advertising agency; Roni Bovette; and Marvin Gathers. Pjay and the two men have a corporation that they call The Open Nose Production. It's a funny name but not unusual. It seems that whenever two or more black people go into the disco-party business in New York they give themselves names like A Nautilus Production or A Critical Path Production or The Winston Collection. Usually, at a disco party given by any one of the groups mentioned above, you are expressly forbidden to wear blue jeans, sneakers, or any other kind of clothing that will make you look poverty-stricken.
Here are some of the things I noticed about the people at La Martinique:
The people who go dancing there at lunch offer a special look at a new class of black people. It's the class whose men are particularly fond of well-tailored suits made up in a polyester fabric, wear moderately high-heeled shoes, have their hair styled in a small, neat Afro, smoke Kool or Pall Mall cigarettes, and never say to a young lady, “Hey, sugah, what you doin'?” Clarence McDade, a sales representative for DHJ Industries, at 1345 Sixth Avenue, is a good example of this. He was wearing a maroon suit that was sedate in cut and fit. He
said about dancing at lunchtime at La Martinique, “I come here on Fridays because it's a way of letting off tensions. The setup is nice, the crowd is nice, most of the men are junior executives, like myself. When I go dancing in the evening, I usually patronize places like Leviticus, Gatsby's, and Nemo's, but every Friday I come here.”
said about dancing at lunchtime at La Martinique, “I come here on Fridays because it's a way of letting off tensions. The setup is nice, the crowd is nice, most of the men are junior executives, like myself. When I go dancing in the evening, I usually patronize places like Leviticus, Gatsby's, and Nemo's, but every Friday I come here.”
The women look something like this: pants suits or stylishly cut dresses made from another kind of polyester fabric, six-inch wedge platform shoes, plastic jewelry, and hair styles that suggest the use of a great deal of Dixie Peach Bergamot, a perfumed hairdressing pomade. This genre of black-female grooming has two things going for it: it is constantly pushed in the magazine
Essence,
and it is often marketed under the heading “Easy Elegance.”
Essence,
and it is often marketed under the heading “Easy Elegance.”
Dancing at lunchtime at La Martinique is reasonably priced. Not only will two-fifty allow you to dance but it will also entitle you to a lunch of cold cuts, salad, and fruit. The music isn't the top of black pop that you hear in most white discothèques. All the time I was there, I didn't hear my favorite song, “Kung Fu Fighting.” The music that Ray, the resident d.j., is most fond of is long album cuts by B. T. Express, L.T.D., MFSB, Brian Auger, Manu Dibango, Hot Chocolate, The Bar-Kays, and the Average White Band.
There is one advantage to going dancing in the daytime, and Jimmy Jackson, who works at a post office somewhere in Brooklyn, pointed it out to me just before I left. “I work during the nights, so it's hard for me to get out,” he said. “This is just the right thing for me.”
Actually, it's iust the right thing for everybody. This is not
the first time I've danced in the middle of the day on Friday. When I was a little girl, in something like the equivalent of kindergarten, in the Caribbean, every Friday we got a longer recess period than on the other days of the week. Then some of us would gather at one end of the schoolyard, grab each other around the waist, and start dancing up and down while we chanted, “Tee la la la, congo. Tee la la la, congo.” We didn't know what it meant, but we would chant it over and over again until the end of the recess. I liked Fridays just for that. It was the one time I was free to be sweaty and have fun. I also liked it because, according to my teacher, Mrs. Tanner, a very fat lady, whom we called Muddy Bottom Tanner behind her back, our behavior was becoming only to savages. How I did want to be a little savage! I bet they never had to take cod-liver oil every day, or eat porridge in the mornings, or wear cotton anklets when all the other girls were wearing nylon anklets. And, after not having to do any of that, they probably got to “Tee la la la” every day for as long as they liked. Mrs. Tanner would not understand or approve of lunchtime dancing at La Martinique.
the first time I've danced in the middle of the day on Friday. When I was a little girl, in something like the equivalent of kindergarten, in the Caribbean, every Friday we got a longer recess period than on the other days of the week. Then some of us would gather at one end of the schoolyard, grab each other around the waist, and start dancing up and down while we chanted, “Tee la la la, congo. Tee la la la, congo.” We didn't know what it meant, but we would chant it over and over again until the end of the recess. I liked Fridays just for that. It was the one time I was free to be sweaty and have fun. I also liked it because, according to my teacher, Mrs. Tanner, a very fat lady, whom we called Muddy Bottom Tanner behind her back, our behavior was becoming only to savages. How I did want to be a little savage! I bet they never had to take cod-liver oil every day, or eat porridge in the mornings, or wear cotton anklets when all the other girls were wearing nylon anklets. And, after not having to do any of that, they probably got to “Tee la la la” every day for as long as they liked. Mrs. Tanner would not understand or approve of lunchtime dancing at La Martinique.
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January 6, 1975
January 6, 1975
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Recently, we saw Blue Magic, the black five-man vocal group from Philadelphia, perform at the Felt Forum, and they were so incredibly good that they revived for us the word “copacetic.” Not many things ever get to be copacetic these days. A truly outstanding thing might be called “cool” or “right on” or “solid” or “together,” but very rarely is it outstanding enough to be called copacetic. Blue Magic, though, is outstanding enough to be called that. Blue Magic is the promise of The Temptations (who could be called “cool” or “right on” or “solid” or “together”) fulfilled.
Blue Magic performing: Five peanut-brown men onstage, wearing identical sky-blue, formally tailored suits, white shoes, white bowlers, and singing, in the sweetest harmony possible, love songs. The lead singer has a choirboy tenor voice, and one of his tricks is to hold a note until he gets at least three standing ovations. A couple of times at the Felt Forum, he got five. But the real thrill in seeing Blue Magic is the
way they dance. Every set of movements seems to culminate in pirouettes. Sometimes they pirouette while standing up straight, sometimes while leaning backward, sometimes while leaning forward, sometimes with hands on hips, sometimes with arms outstretched, sometimes while appearing to curtsey. It is at once graceful and dazzling. At the end of the performance, they disappear in a big cloud of blue smoke. Just like that.
way they dance. Every set of movements seems to culminate in pirouettes. Sometimes they pirouette while standing up straight, sometimes while leaning backward, sometimes while leaning forward, sometimes with hands on hips, sometimes with arms outstretched, sometimes while appearing to curtsey. It is at once graceful and dazzling. At the end of the performance, they disappear in a big cloud of blue smoke. Just like that.
A few days after seeing them at the Felt Forum, we saw them in the bar at the Dorset Hotel, on West Fifty-fourth Street, and they were having refreshments. They introduced themselves: Ted Mills (the lead singer), Vernon Sawyer, or Y.M.P., short for Young Mr. Plush (the group's clothes designer). Wendell Sawyer (Vernon's brother and the group's vocal arranger), Keith Beaton (the group's choreographer), and Richard Pratt. They were all wearing neatly tailored suits made of natural-looking fibre, and they all wore tons of expensive-looking jewelry around their necks and on their fingers.
We asked them how old they were, and Ted said that none of them was younger than twenty-three or older than twenty-six.
We asked Keith how he went about his choreography, and he said, “Well, I figure it out mathematically, and we all have good memories. Like one song might have fifty to seventy-five different steps, and we will have to do twenty-five of them before Ted sings the first note. Sometimes, while Richard and Vernon are doing one thing, me and Wendell will be doing the opposite. I have my own ideas, plus I borrow from the old
Temptations. I have even borrowed things from female artists. See, most groups just dance and do steps with no conception of what's going on, but we try to tell the story. The way I figure it, the way we move isn't ordinary, it's out of this world. It's kind of magic, really.”
Temptations. I have even borrowed things from female artists. See, most groups just dance and do steps with no conception of what's going on, but we try to tell the story. The way I figure it, the way we move isn't ordinary, it's out of this world. It's kind of magic, really.”
After that, Ted Mills told us that though Blue Magic was part of the W.M.O.T. Productions Family in Philadelphia, the group itself is a corporation known as Mystic Dragon. We asked him what W.M.O.T. stands for, and why a corporation is called Mystic Dragon. He said, “W.M.O.T. stands for We Men Of Talent, and they are responsible for our record production. Mystic Dragon means that we own ourselves. It means that Vernon will not just design clothes for Blue Magic or Keith choreograph only for Blue Magic, and Wendell can arrange voices for other people as well. Richard is our accountant, and I can handle corporate business. We are very smart. I was studying law when I first joined the group, and we each read at least one book every four days. We chose the name Mystic Dragon because it reflects Blue Magic. We are in tune with the harmony of man itself. We are what happens when the limited seeks the unlimited. One day, through us, I hope to reveal the secrets of Blue Magic.”
Just before we left, we told them that Blue Magic's performance was so appealing it made us wish we had lots of miniature sets of Blue Magic to carry with us wherever we go. They laughed, and Vernon Sawyer said, “That's such a nice idea we just might start working on it.”
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August 11
,
1975
August 11
,
1975
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The other evening, Revlon, the big cosmetics company, threw a party in the first-floor-accessories department (hats, gloves, scarves, cosmetics, things like that) of Bloomingdale's, to celebrate the opening of the movie
Mahogany,
starring Diana Ross, and to introduce a new line of “Orient-inspired” colors, called China Bronze, in their Touch & Glow makeup. Since Miss Ross is the model for Touch & Glow in the movie, we naturally assumed that China Bronze was another line of colors for black women. Great. Black is beautiful, true, but it never hurts to try to be more beautiful. Well, we were wrong.
Mahogany,
starring Diana Ross, and to introduce a new line of “Orient-inspired” colors, called China Bronze, in their Touch & Glow makeup. Since Miss Ross is the model for Touch & Glow in the movie, we naturally assumed that China Bronze was another line of colors for black women. Great. Black is beautiful, true, but it never hurts to try to be more beautiful. Well, we were wrong.
At the party, we walked in and immediately had our picture taken by a couple of photographers from Polaroid, who then pasted the photograph on a black piece of cardboard and told us that this framed picture of us was taken by the SX-70 camera. We checked out a rumor that Diana Ross might make an appearance and were told that she was in California, about to have a baby. We looked around and saw Tony
Perkins, who also stars in the movie, wearing a denim shirt and denim pants; Ben Vereen, wearing a handsome black velvet suit, which he told us was designed specially for him by Jacques Bellini; Jacques Bellini, wearing a handsome black velvet jacket, which he told us he had designed for himself; some unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people eating Chinese-style spareribs and fried chicken; lots of other unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people drinking champagne; and more unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people watching scenes from
Mahogany,
on a color television set. What we didn't see were any black women who looked as if they might be wearing the new China Bronze colors.
Perkins, who also stars in the movie, wearing a denim shirt and denim pants; Ben Vereen, wearing a handsome black velvet suit, which he told us was designed specially for him by Jacques Bellini; Jacques Bellini, wearing a handsome black velvet jacket, which he told us he had designed for himself; some unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people eating Chinese-style spareribs and fried chicken; lots of other unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people drinking champagne; and more unrecognizable well-dressed, smiling people watching scenes from
Mahogany,
on a color television set. What we didn't see were any black women who looked as if they might be wearing the new China Bronze colors.
Just as we were about to inquire what, exactly, was going on, a slim, pretty, non-black young woman, wearing a cluster of yellow flowers in her hair, a brightly colored shirt, and black pants, came up to us and said that her name was Kathy Fields, that she was a makeup consultant for Revlon, that she was with the China Bronze “collection,” and that she was actually wearing one of the new hues. We took a good look at her face. It was cherry red, as if she had just stuck it in a hot oven. “I think it's a dynamite look,” she said.
“But aren't these colors for black women?” we asked.
“Well, yes,” she said. “Butâ”
Before she could finish, a very light-complexioned Negro man who was standing nearby jumped in and said, “No, they aren't.”
The man introduced himself as Ron Marablé, beauty consultant for Revlon. Then he told us, “They're not black cosmetics.
People are no longer into that. There is no longer such a thing as black cosmetics. We don't believe there is a different makeup for different people. There are many different skin tones in the world, and black is just one of them. I know. I went to art school for eight years, and then I went to Europe. I did Sophia Loren in Rome. I studied with her makeup artist for a year. I have done Melba Moore, Freda Payne, Nina Simone, Virna Lisi, Nancy Wilson, andâoh, Coretta King. Don't forget that. She was my favoriteâCoretta King. I used to be the beauty editor for
Ebony.
I used to do before-and-afterâI would take a woman and make her over. I would take an ugly woman and make her pretty. But this is a makeup for any woman. Any woman can wear it. We have a range of colors here. Bronze, copper, rustâall the warm earth colors. They're going over well. On the first day, we sold three thousand dollars. Today, we did twenty-five hundred. And tomorrow we hope to do over three thousand.”
People are no longer into that. There is no longer such a thing as black cosmetics. We don't believe there is a different makeup for different people. There are many different skin tones in the world, and black is just one of them. I know. I went to art school for eight years, and then I went to Europe. I did Sophia Loren in Rome. I studied with her makeup artist for a year. I have done Melba Moore, Freda Payne, Nina Simone, Virna Lisi, Nancy Wilson, andâoh, Coretta King. Don't forget that. She was my favoriteâCoretta King. I used to be the beauty editor for
Ebony.
I used to do before-and-afterâI would take a woman and make her over. I would take an ugly woman and make her pretty. But this is a makeup for any woman. Any woman can wear it. We have a range of colors here. Bronze, copper, rustâall the warm earth colors. They're going over well. On the first day, we sold three thousand dollars. Today, we did twenty-five hundred. And tomorrow we hope to do over three thousand.”
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October 27
,
1975
October 27
,
1975
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Two things we know about Richard Pryor for sure: he is the funniest man in America, and, after Muhammad Ali, he is the baddest person anywhere. “Bad” here does not mean rotten or no good. It means being so extraordinarily good at doing something that for someone to call you the greatest, or anything like that, does not quite measure up to describing how incredible you are. Only the word “bad” will do. For instance, not long ago we saw Pryor performing at the Felt Forum, in Madison Square Garden, and he said things that are usually considered uncomplimentary about blacks, whites, and women, and the audience, which was made up of blacks, whites, and women, laughed and laughed.
He was in town the other day, and around dinnertime we stopped by his suite at the Regency Hotel for a chat with him. Before we had a chance to say hello, he stuck a finger out and showed us a ring he was wearing and said, “Look at this ring. It's nice. Ain't pimpy at all.” We looked. It was a slim, plain
gold band decorated with three delicately set diamonds. Then we looked at him. We had never before seen him close up, and noticed that he is quite handsome. He is tall, slim (he was dieting, he said), with a boyish face that is especially nice when he smiles. He was wearing tapered gray trousers, a mottled black-and-white sweater, and brown mules. In his rooms with him were a woman he introduced as his girl friend, his manager, his valet, and his jeweller.
gold band decorated with three delicately set diamonds. Then we looked at him. We had never before seen him close up, and noticed that he is quite handsome. He is tall, slim (he was dieting, he said), with a boyish face that is especially nice when he smiles. He was wearing tapered gray trousers, a mottled black-and-white sweater, and brown mules. In his rooms with him were a woman he introduced as his girl friend, his manager, his valet, and his jeweller.
We spent three hours with him, and during that time this is what happened: he bought a gold necklace with a heart-shaped, diamond-studded pendant for the woman he had introduced as his girl friend; he bought a gold ring for his manager and a gold ring for his valet; he wrote a check for sixteen hundred dollars to his jeweller; he ordered a dinner of sweet-and-sour fish from Greener Pastures, a health-food restaurant not far from the hotel; he picked up his spinach with his bare hands and said with a British accent, “I like my spinach squeeze-dried, don't you?”; when the telephone rang, he spoke into his mules; during dinner, he watched
The CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite
and mimicked Walter Cronkite many times; after dinner, he disappeared for a while with a copy of U.S.
News & World Report.
When he was not mimicking Walter Cronkite, these are some of the things he said: “I am now a vegetarian. I was standing at the corner of Forty-second Street, and this man came up to me and said, âRise, and go forth and be a vegetarian.' One thing I can sayâI was lucky he didn't pick my pocket. Vegetables are funny. They have a great sense of humor. You drop their seeds in the
ground and they rub around in the dirt and then they grow up and you can eat them. Politicians are always doing things to Negroes. One will be standing on his head, another on his ass, and another on his foot. Politician to Negro: âLook, buddy, this is what I can do for you.' Negro to politician: âMan, will you take your foot off my mother?' I'm trying to figure out things to sell to the Chinese. They don't dig Joe DiMaggio. How about an album of Mao's greatest hits? I was born under the sign of funny. I haven't met the other people born under that sign yet, but I think a couple of them became scientists. You know how I get to be funny? I go to sleep for about a year. I wake up with cobwebs all over my face. I roll them up in a large ball with milk and sugar, eat it quickly, and then I start laughing. People say, What's so funny? I tell them. They start laughing. Then I have lunch. Some of the things I say are true, some are not, but it all happened.”
The CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite
and mimicked Walter Cronkite many times; after dinner, he disappeared for a while with a copy of U.S.
News & World Report.
When he was not mimicking Walter Cronkite, these are some of the things he said: “I am now a vegetarian. I was standing at the corner of Forty-second Street, and this man came up to me and said, âRise, and go forth and be a vegetarian.' One thing I can sayâI was lucky he didn't pick my pocket. Vegetables are funny. They have a great sense of humor. You drop their seeds in the
ground and they rub around in the dirt and then they grow up and you can eat them. Politicians are always doing things to Negroes. One will be standing on his head, another on his ass, and another on his foot. Politician to Negro: âLook, buddy, this is what I can do for you.' Negro to politician: âMan, will you take your foot off my mother?' I'm trying to figure out things to sell to the Chinese. They don't dig Joe DiMaggio. How about an album of Mao's greatest hits? I was born under the sign of funny. I haven't met the other people born under that sign yet, but I think a couple of them became scientists. You know how I get to be funny? I go to sleep for about a year. I wake up with cobwebs all over my face. I roll them up in a large ball with milk and sugar, eat it quickly, and then I start laughing. People say, What's so funny? I tell them. They start laughing. Then I have lunch. Some of the things I say are true, some are not, but it all happened.”
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January 12
,
1976
January 12
,
1976
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